


such is God

by zefive



Category: Khonjin House (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Canon Trans Character, Character Study, Gen, Pent is only talked about, i guess??, not sure what else to tag this as uhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 17:55:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11949570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zefive/pseuds/zefive
Summary: Khonjin, and the reality of Godhood.





	such is God

**Author's Note:**

> i watched all of [Khonjin House](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bn8Gdmygjaw&t=6s), and then just, wrote all of this the very next day?? don't look at me, i have NO idea wtf happened.
> 
> set post finale. possibly oocness? still figuring out these fuckers.  
> (they/them for Pent)

He doesn’t think about it until Gino gets himself killed.

He’s not a serious person, is the thing. His life is a run-on sentence, a chaotic disaster of slapstick humour and deaths that doesn’t stick.

Before all this, he’s never really thought about _why_.

(it had just been A Thing, really. the sky’s blue, Gino runs a pizzeria, and Khonjin can’t die)

But now he’s sitting in his living room, swearing at his Nintendo like that’ll solve Mario’s jumping issues, and the world just fucking _ripples_.

Maybe it’s more like a shiver- a sudden stop in everything, like a punch to the face, and Khonjin drops his controller like he’s never been surprised before in his damn life.

The world shudders at him, and Khonjin clutches at his gut, eyes wide. Gino’s dead, he knows.

(he doesn’t know _how_ he knows. just that he Knows, capital K, and it’s a _thing_ , now, apparently. a god damn punch to the gut every time someone ~~he cares about~~ dies.)

Before this, he’s never given a second thought to what, exactly, went down that day. What exactly it _meant_ . He doesn’t think about it now, either, because he’s kind of too busy getting up and stumbling out of his flat, heart hammering in his chest, but it curls up at the back of his mind, sinks its claws into him and _waits_.

 

It’s some kind of shoot up.

There’s blood sprayed across the counter, bits of gore and brains on the wall. Khonjin leans his weight against the wall, world spinning. He’s kind of queasy.

Glass’ been exploded across the floor, and they crackle beneath his shoes as he stumbles his way to Gino’s limp and lifeless body. His head is twisted to the side, eyes open and empty, and Khonjin’s breath is shaky, rattling.

He feels sick.

It’s kind of funny, because this isn’t the first time he’s seen Gino dead- they’ve all died plenty of times before, but somehow this is _different_. Maybe it’s because it’s quiet and still, maybe it’s because Gino is just _lying there_. Maybe it’s because he’s not getting up.

Khonjin sits down. Right there on the floor, glass shards cutting into his legs and backside. He doesn’t really _care_ if he’s getting all cut up. He can fix that.

He can probably fix this too.

The thought crawls out of his mouth, hangs around his neck like a rope. He can _fix this_. He has whatever Pent had, before. He can change what he want and fix what he wants, and he can do _anything_.

He breathes.

His hands are shaking.

 

He keeps away for a while, after that.

Spends his time playing video games and ignoring the thought, the way it sits on him, patient and constant. He feels sick, every time he accidentally lets the thought slip in.

Khonjin’s a kid, really. He’s fifteen and he’s still learning, and he has a gun under his pillow, keeps a knife on him at all times. He knew how to shot a gun when he was _eight_.

He’s not supposed to be able to twist the world. He’s not _supposed to_ , but he can, and it makes him want to vomit, because he’s _fifteen_.

Mario dies for the twentieth time that hour, and Khonjin- fifteen and sick with power- screams and throws the controller at the TV.

It breaks.

 

Spag shows up at his door two days later, and Khonjin lets him in, because he’s tired and weak, and all he wants to do is bury his face in his boyfriend’s chest and _stop thinking_.

They end up cuddled on his bed, because the living room is a mess of smashed glass and thrown furniture, and Khonjin presses his face into Spag’s chest until he can’t even breathe.

Spag curls his fingers around his nape, and kisses the crown of his head.

“You gonna tell me what’s up?”

Khonjin clutches at Spag’s shirt, hunches his shoulders up. He wishes he could smother himself, here, in Spag’s chest. Escape the need to ever think about this again.

But Spag is here, right here, warm and soft beneath his hands, and Khonjin pulls away. Doesn’t look up at him, because he can’t.

Reality’s making him seasick, but it’s still reality.

“Do you remember the, uh, Pent thing?”

 _The Pent thing_. The thing with Pent- that one time everything became too real, too serious, and Khonjin had to _be_ , just for once, serious.

Spag is still and quiet, and Khonjin knows he’s looking at him. Knows he’s trying to figure out why, exactly, he’s bringing it up _now_. Bringing it up when, after it all happened, he refused to talk about it.

“Yes.”

Khonjin stares at his fingers, stares at the white of Spag’s shirt, and at the way his hands are, still, shaking.

“You know how we kind of, die a lot?”

Spag raises one hand; cups Khonjin’s cheek with his palm, and Khonjin closes his eyes, leans into it. His throat is thick, and he’s sick, queasy. Tired of this.

“Yeah, well-” he smiles, except it feels _wrong_. Doesn’t feel real. To be fair, _nothing_ feels real right now. “I just kind of realised the implications of it all.”

I’m fifteen, he doesn’t say. Fifteen, and the _God_ of this universe, and I _don’t know how to handle that_.

Spag kisses him, then; presses their foreheads together, and hugs him, and Khonjin presses into it until his eyes sting, and he starts crying.

Fuck Pent.

 

He gets better, after that.

Starts visiting Gino’s again, bothering him and laughing, and it’s not that he’s come to terms with this bullshit- it’s still there, in the back of his mind, waiting for a breakdown he’s refusing to have in full.

But he’s fifteen, and so he’ll deal with this like he deals with everything else- repression and _pe-pe-pe-_ pepperoni pizza.

Gino throws a glass at his head, and he laughs. Falls back into routine, into jobs and hilarious disasters, and Khonjin is _fine_ , he is, really.

And then, in the middle of getting ready in the morning, he looks in the mirror and freezes.

It’s kind of hilarious. It’s been over a month, since the whole Pent thing, and it’s the first time he looks at himself, and sees _Pent_.

Not Khonjin.

Pent.

He’s staring at himself, naked and vulnerable, and he’s staring at his breasts, and his face, and the length of his hair, and he feels _sick_. Not in the way he usually gets when he catches a look at himself naked; more like how he feels every time the thought crawls out of his mind, and tells him, hushed in a whisper, _we’re a God_.

He shivers.

He could fix this. Could fix _him_ , and the thought is like vomit in his throat, because he _could do this_. He could- he could just _do it_.

His hands are shaking. He can’t make them stop.

Anything. He could break the world and he could reshape it, and he could _kill everyone_ , and he could do _anything_.

His breath hitches. His eyes are wide, pupils two tiny pinpricks in a sea of white, and he’s fucking _terrified_.

The mirror cracks, just once.

Khonjin jerks his eyes away; stumbles a step forward, and he’s shaking so _hard_ , his world tilting on its axis. He puts his binder on, dresses in two extra layers, and drags an old, ratty hoodie on. It’s warm, too warm, and he’s still hyperventilating, but he can’t bear to look at his skin, at himself.

He runs from his flat like it’s on fire, like there’s something inside that’s waiting to eat him. Like if he stays there even a second longer, Pent's gonna crawl out of the mirror and back into his body.

 

By the time he stops panicking, Nickville’s dark. Dark and cold and empty, and he’s standing on a corner, hands in his hoodie pockets, cold sweat all up his back.

He doesn’t have his phone on him. Doesn’t even have his _wallet_ , or some spare change; just his key, haphazardly shoved in his back pocket, and he runs his fingers over the ragged edge, breath loud in his ears.

He’s alone and lost in the city, and the thought is curled up in his hands, staring up at him, waiting, watching, smiling.

Khonjin sits down on the curb; folds his arms around his legs and stares out at nothing, key pressed into his palm.

He can’t escape this. He’s too tired, too empty to ignore it. It just sits there, looking back at him, and Khonjin’s hands aren’t shaking anymore.

A God.

Pent’s still in his head, somewhere. Maybe it’s just a after-image of them, but they’re still _there_ , with all of their memories and knowledge, and Khonjin presses one fist against his eyes, breath shaky.

He doesn’t want to touch on them. Doesn’t want to get into Shelby and Pent and all of _that_ , but he knows enough to, well, _know_.

This isn’t real. _None_ of this is real, really- it’s an imaginary world, created by a mourning idiot who ran away instead of staying, who split themself apart in- in _some way_ , to create Khonjin.

Khonjin’s Pent in every way that he isn’t.

And Pent is gone, now. There’s none of them left inside of him, really; just the scars and the marks and the memories, lingering because they’re his as much as they aren’t.

God.

He’s a _God_ now, more or less. The thought still makes him sick, but it’s easier to face now that he’s hollowed out.

He doesn’t _want_ to be a God.

He wants to be fifteen years old. He wants to be _Khonjin_ , and he wants to hold hands with his boyfriend and bother Gino, and he wants to fuck things up, and he wants to be _himself_ , just like he’s always been, except that’s _false_ \- he’s not always been anything. He’s not always been Khonjin.

He digs his fingers into his hair, hunches his shoulders up. He doesn’t want to _think_ about this- he doesn’t want an identity crisis, or whatever the fuck he’s having right now. He just wants to be _Khonjin_.

The key’s digging into his scalp, and he’s sitting across from a store, walls all glass and reflective, and he looks up. Looks at them, and he looks, still, just like Pent.

There’s circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. His hair is a mess, and his face is set in a frown, and Pent is staring back at him.

“I don’t want to be you,” he says, voice hoarse.

~~you are, though~~

 

Spag answers the door half a minute after he knocks.

His face lights up, goes bright and happy, and then it falters- Khonjin grins at him.

“Hey,” he says, and stands on his tiptoes to kiss Spag’s cheek. “I gotta talk to you.”

Spag blinks. He looks confused, and kind of lost, but he steps aside, gestures Khonjin inside.

Khonjin twines their fingers together, and tugs Spag over to the couch.

“So, you’ve probably noticed I’ve been really fucked up lately,” he says, not even faltering. Spag startles, squeezes his hand. He smiles.

“Is that why...?” Spag asks, gestures to his hair. Short, badly cut hair, that looks exactly nothing like Pent’s.

Khonjin grins. “Yep! I’m not, like, gonna explains why and all that. I just, wanted to say goodbye.”

Spag goes still and tense, and Khonjin tugs him closer; makes eye contact, and _really_ looks at him.

“I’m gonna leave for a bit, Spags. Not for forever, and not for _long_ , exactly. I just. I really need a vacation.”

And he smiles, and the thought is still there, burned into his bones, but it’s easier. It’s starting to heal, now.

But if he stays here, it won't- he has to leave, has to _go_ , at least for a while. He needs to be away from this, all of this, for a while. He doesn't know for how long, but it won't be forever.

Maybe Spag sees all that; he turns soft, all understanding and compassion, and he brushes his fingers through the ends of Khonjin's short, short hair.

"Come back," he says, simply, and Khonjin nods- kisses him, fingers curled in his collar, and then he gets up. Leaves.

He really, _really_ , needs a vacation.

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is always, _always_ appreciated!  
>  you can also find me on tumblr, at zefive and zewrit.


End file.
